Domestic
by Ash Engel
Summary: A collection of shorts based in a setting long after S8. Sam has settled down with a wife and kids (and dog) while Dean and Cas enjoy their own special version of an apple pie lifestyle. Destiel, possible M rated chapters (they will have warnings in the A/N) Semi-Domestic Setting with dashes of hunting and romance.


**A/N: **Taking a break from_ Purgatorio_ with a short story inspired by some musing for a possible ending setting to the show. I'll likely add to it as I get ideas or want to take a break from the seriousness of _Purgatorio_. Feel free to leave scene suggestions in your reviews, or in my askbox at _voxxerfoxxer . tumblr . com_.

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Hellhounds were ripping through the streets with solid fury powering their lungs. Every advance was on angry claws that shredded the ground underfoot.

Dean didn't watch the way their 'invisible' forms tore up the dirt and threw it behind themselves in their chase. He was too busy panting, racing from the dogs and all they meant.

It didn't matter what he knew about the dogs. In that moment Dean didn't want to be ripped away to Hell. Heaven. Purgatory. Anywhere that wasn't home. And if any of those dogs caught him, he didn't know where he'd end up but he knew it wouldn't be anywhere safe or welcoming.

The trip came eventually. It always did. And just like the times before when this had happened, as soon as his body slammed into the wet forest floor eyes flew open and lungs gasped desperately at the air.

His body lurched, bringing him up away from his pillow. He made the rest of the travel from laying to sitting on his own, knowing there was no point in trying to settle back into his own sweat-stained sheets.

"Dean?" Cas stirred beside him as he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

Not every night was interrupted by nightmares. But to call them rare was a stretch. Dean took a slow breath to steady himself. He tried to think happy thoughts- a suggestion from Sam. Gradually his hands ran down his face, pulling at the tired skin before he looked to his right. Starting to sit up, Cas was completely out of it. Blue eyes were hazy and half-shut, trying to focus on Dean in the darkness. His hair was shoved in every other direction (Dean had told him not to lay down with it wet, but he never listened) and as he came to nearly mirror Dean's actions of sitting up fully and rubbing his face, the hunter smiled.

Impossibly human. That was what he'd always fallen back on in quiet moments were Cas did something like this. Something warm and quiet and subtle. It was such a far cry from the demon-smiting angel he knew, yet Cas wasn't Cas without these details.

As soon as he had his own bearing on reality, Castiel was reaching out, hand half-blindly searching for Dean's. They met above the sheets with fingers intertwining, and lips weren't far behind.

They didn't fall into a steamy pile beneath the sheets, or surrender to some crazy hour long make out session (not to say either of those didn't happen every now and then). But rather the kiss was chaste, just a dot of lips and enough time to register the warmth of another body before pulling away.

Cas didn't ask about the nightmare. Dean didn't talk about it. It was a rerun, for one. And for two, he had nothing to say. It wasn't a lingering anxiety haunting him into insanity. It was just a symptom of a sickness. A fear, or a reminder, that stayed with Dean through the years. He got over it, as best a man could, by keeping his head forward. By keeping his hand intertwined with his angel's.

Gradually they came to lay back down. It was three in the morning, and while they didn't have some desk job to get to come morning or kids of their own to look after, they did have a promise. A certain brother with his two little girls that Dean had promised to watch turn seven together.

Quietly he wound one arm over Castiel's waist, the other going up beneath the pillow under the angel. Like this, wound close against the other's back, Dean murmured soft reminders of love and promises to protect. They settled into silence, where his mind took over with wistful memories of the seventh birthday Sam had.

There wasn't a cake, or nicely wrapped gifts. But there had been love. And that love swallowed Dean whole, from the inside out. It drew him down into a quiet sleep, filled with dreams of Sam and Cas and happiness. Dreams that left his lips quirking slightly, curving into smiles his angel would kiss awake come morning.


End file.
